


Touch and the Inner Hominid

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw





	Touch and the Inner Hominid

“Jennifer, you explained to Sheppard that he didn’t hurt me, right?”

“Yes, Rodney, I did.”

“Then why is he avoiding me?”

“Rodney, this isn’t necessarily about you.  The Colonel’s still recovering from an experience that would have been traumatic even if it _hadn’t_ included the potential for him to harm one of his closest friends.”

“So why isn’t he avoiding _everyone_?”

“Possibly because you’re the one whose presence brings back the experience the most sharply?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t about me!”

“I _meant_ that you weren’t the one who’d taken the worst damage.  Look, he just needs more time.”

“He’s had _two weeks_!  He won’t talk to me, he won’t look at me, he stays as far away from me as possible if we absolutely have to be in the same room and then he leaves as soon as he can!  How are we supposedly to function on the same team like this?  There’s obviously something going on with Sheppard, maybe if you ran some more scans...”

“More scans aren’t going to do any good.”

“How do you know that if you don’t know...  Unless you _do_ know what’s going on and aren’t telling me due to so-called physician/patient confidentiality.”

Dr. Keller glares.  “There’s nothing ‘so-called’ about it, Rodney – and if you suddenly acquire more information I’ll know you hacked the files and I will be extremely pissed off.”

“Oh, please.  If there’s a medical reason that the military commander of Atlantis can’t stand to be anywhere near the chief science officer, that obviously puts the city at risk and which creates a need-to-know situation that overrides confidentiality.”

“It _may_ create a need-to-know for _Woolsey_, but not for you.”

“Fine, then I’ll go through Woolsey!”

***

Rodney barrels into Woolsey’s office already talking: “Woolsey, listen, you need to tell Keller...”

“Dr. McKay, I’m glad that you happened to come by.  Please sit down.  Colonel Sheppard and I were just discussing you.”

It’s only then that Rodney registers Sheppard’s presence in the room.  Despite his relaxed slouch against the far wall, the Colonel looks... haunted.  Pale underneath his tan, with dark circles under his eyes.

Woolsey’s still going on.  “Lt. Colonel Sheppard has asked me to ask you to step down from SGA-1.”

“What?!  Oh, very mature, Colonel.  You couldn’t ask me directly, you tried to hide behind...”

“Dr. McKay!”  Woolsey rarely takes that tone, but he does, it’s effective.  “The Colonel has explained to me that his request has nothing to do with your performance on the team.”

“Then why...”

“That’s not in your need-to-know, Doctor.  I’m sure you’ll respect the Colonel’s privacy.”

In other words, respect it or else.

Bluster won’t work on Woolsey, so...

“Of course.  And I’ll draw up a list of replacement candidates immediately.  But I’m the most field-experienced scientist we’ve got.  It would be a shame to waste that experience.  And honestly, no one else knows as much as I do when it comes to improvising with Ancient tech in the field.  If I’m going to be freed up from going on routine missions with Sheppard’s team, we should look at having me work with other teams, especially those who don’t already have someone with expertise in my own areas.”

Sheppard practically jumps forward, then catches himself.  “McKay, you can’t...”  Rodney wouldn’t have thought it was possible for the man to turn any paler than he already was.

“Hmmm, Colonel, Dr. McKay’s suggestion has considerable merit.  You yourself spoke highly of his field performance.  Unless you have specific objections?”

“Uh – no, sir.”

“Then I suggest that we schedule a meeting for all team leaders and senior field scientists to discuss how we might make the best use of Dr. McKay’s time.”

“I’ll do that, sir.  Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Woolsey nods and Sheppard’s gone.  Obviously he couldn’t tolerate being in the same room with Rodney another minute.  But equally obviously, he doesn’t like the idea of Rodney going offworld with other teams.  Well, Sheppard’s either got to put up with it – or tell Rodney what’s going on.  Rodney doesn’t let Woolsey catch him grinning.

***

The reactions of the other team leaders range from resigned acceptance to actual enthusiasm.  Woolsey’s pleased.  SGA-1 adopts Dr. Smolensky, a geologist.  Rodney goes offworld a couple times with teams that usually make do with a botanist but need a _real _scientist once in a while and a couple more times with teams breaking in a rookie physicist or engineer.

He misses his “own” team, as he still thinks of SGA-1, and can’t help being jealous of Smilinsky.  Still, it’s not as if he’s completely cut off from them.  Teyla and Ronon will at least talk to him, although they make it clear they won’t discuss Sheppard.  Rodney’s not sure if this is basic team loyalty or because Sheppard’s asked them not to.  Ronon _does_ mention that Smilodon’s an even worse shot than Rodney “but he talks less.”

Sheppard continues to avoid him.  Rodney’s glad he’s long over his mad crush on Sheppard.  If this had happened the first or second, even the third year he was on Atlantis, he wouldn’t have been able to help reacting to Sheppard’s rejection _much_ more personally.  But after three years – maybe four – even Rodney had been forced to face the reality that gorgeous and oh-so-cool flyboys do not fall for overweight geniuses with thinning hair, not even in the Pegasus galaxy, not even if said flyboys’ confidential psych files contain mutterings about homosexual tendencies. 

The Crush is long since dead and gone.  In its wake, Rodney has (repeatedly) congratulated himself on his brilliant foresight in never letting Sheppard find out.  He’s reminded himself (also repeatedly) that his long-standing friendship with Sheppard is worth far more than a temporary and almost certainly doomed romance would ever have been.  So Rodney’s _curious_ about Sheppard’s behaviour and maybe even _concerned_ about his friend’s state of mind, but he’s not _heart-broken_.

Then comes PX4-192.  Rodney’s with Teldy’s team that day, working in tandem with Porter.  Things go wrong, the locals take offense, and when the team dials in to Atlantis, they warn the gateroom they’re coming in hot.  Still, it’s not too bad.  Teldy and Mehra have non-critical bullet wounds – they’ve lost some blood, but they’re going to be okay.  Porter’s got a nasty knife slash, but all Rodney has is a bullet _graze_ on one arm.  There’s some good-natured ribbing about signing up with SGA-1 to learn how to duck.    

Keller patches Rodney up and sends him back to his own quarters to rest.  Since she also radios the lab to tell Radek to throw him out if he shows up there, he actually does end up in his quarters – with his three favourite laptops to play with.

Immersed in projects, Rodney’s lost track of time when his door whooshes open.  Sheppard’s obviously just in from his own mission.  He’s dusty, sweaty and by Sheppardian standards, he’s almost frantic, pale and dark-eyed and unsmiling.

“Where?” he demands.

“If you’re asking where you are, Colonel, you’re in _my_ quarters and you entered _without_ knocking.  Would you care to explain why?”

“Rodney,” grates Sheppard and _grabs_ him – and abruptly Rodney’s reminded of MG9-147, of Sheppard wide-eyed and twitching, grabbing Rodney with the same hold by the same arm the moment before he yanked him into a run.  Unfortunately, it’s also the arm with the bullet graze, and Sheppard’s hand has closed right over the bandage.  Rodney squawks and tries to pull away, which only makes Sheppard hold him tighter, gripping both arms now.

“Rodney.”  It’s almost a whine, and Sheppard’s _sniffing_ him, his hair, his ears, his neck.  It’s almost exactly the same as before.  Flashback, thinks Rodney, Sheppard’s having a flashback.  He tries to keep calm, someone has to keep calm.  If Sheppard’s using words, the flashback’s not total.  Maybe he can talk Sheppard out of it.

“Sheppard, John, it’s okay.  I’m not hurt, no one’s hurt.  We’re back on Atlantis, we made it back, remember?”

There’s no sign Sheppard’s listening.  He whines again – lower, almost a growl – and pushes Rodney back towards the bed until he’s got Rodney sitting down, starts pulling at Rodney’s shirt.

“You want the shirt off?  Fine, I’m taking the shirt off.  Careful there, bandage!  No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s just a little bandage over a little bullet graze, it’s fine.”

But there’s nothing for it – Sheppard’s got to have the bandage off, has to see for himself.  Rodney half expects him to lick the wound, but thankfully he holds off, even rebandages it competently enough.  Then he inspects the rest of Rodney’s arms and torso, inch by inch, touching, sniffing, stroking.  When he reaches the top of Rodney’s waistband, he starts in on the belt.

“Wait, wait!  That’s enough!  John, I’m fine, you don’t need to...”

Sheppard apparently does need to.  He’s lost in what he’s doing, humming a bit as he undoes the belt, the fastenings on Rodneys’s BDUs, as he uncovers Rodney’s skin.  Rodney might be able to take him by surprise, give him a shove backwards and buy enough time to radio for help.  Then again, maybe not.  And he doesn’t want to hurt Sheppard, doesn’t even want to scare him. 

When Sheppard tugs, trying to get Rodney to rise up so that Sheppard can get his pants and boxers down, Rodney cooperates, helps Sheppard with the laces of the boots that Sheppard forgot to remove first.  As Rodney watches Sheppard kneel before him to pull off his boots and socks, he’s surprised to realize that for once he himself isn’t scared.  Sheppard didn’t hurt him on MG9-147, isn’t going to hurt him now.  Rodney finds he trusts that, trusts it surprisingly deeply.

Sheppard works back up his legs – checking for injury?  Or possibly checking Rodney’s scent.  Rodney remembers back on Earth, when he came back to his apartment at the end of each day, his cat would carefully sniff his hands, as if trying to find out where Rodney had been.

Calves, knees, thighs.  “Wait!  Stop!  This time I mean it!  John, that’s enough!”

But Sheppard’s humming louder now, making a sort of rumbling purr as he buries his face in Rodney’s groin, rubs it back and forth.  He’s reassured now, happy, exploratory, playful as he nips at Rodney’s belly and pushes him back on the bed.  It is indeed MG9-147 all over again.  And it’s a good thing Rodney’s crush on Sheppard is well and truly over with, because that means that however Rodney’s body is interpreting the situation, Rodney’s mind can make a rational decision with his friend’s best interests as his highest priority.

“Okay, fine, but only because if I upset you it’ll probably set your recovery back even further.  But it’s _my_ bed and I’m not having your dusty, sweaty clothes in it, so they’re coming off.  Come on, let me get your belt – oh, you like that idea, do you?”

It’s a rhetorical question.  Sheppard’s appreciation for Rodney’s assistance in removing his pants is quite visible.  Tangible, even.

“Wait, wait, boots before pants...  Okay, pants now, yes, shirt too...  Right, come on then.”  And Sheppard does.

Afterwards, Sheppard seems indisposed to leave, curling himself around Rodney, anchoring him with arms around his shoulders, a leg slung over his hips.  That’s how they fall asleep.  But when Rodney wakes up in the morning, Sheppard’s gone. 

When Rodney next sees him, it’s at a senior staff meeting that afternoon.  Sheppard still sits as far away from Rodney as possible, but he looks better.  More rested.  Rodney thinks maybe he managed to make the right decision and actually do something to help Sheppard.  He’s even more pleased with himself than he would have expected.

***

Unfortunately, the improvement doesn’t last.  A week later, Sheppard’s back to looking haunted and hunted and how the _hell_ can Keller claim that all he needs is time?  Rodney wonders if another sniff-rub-and-cuddle session would help.  He wouldn’t say no if Sheppard asked.  Then he remembers whom he’s dealing with.  This is John “Stoic” Sheppard, Denier of Pain.  Sheppard only came to Rodney’s quarters because he thought _Rodney_ was injured, but Rodney draws the line at self-mutilation to encourage a repeat performance.  And he’s long past the days when he fantasized about showing up at _Sheppard’s_ quarters in the middle of the night and just _throwing_ himself at the man.

The situation’s still at a stalemate the evening that Rodney’s eating supper and somehow the taste of tormack with roast beast gravy leads naturally to an interesting idea on how to improve the efficiency of the grounding stations.  Rodney grabs dessert to-go and heads for his lab.  It’s getting kind of late by the time his initial concept has been developed into something that can actually be _tested_, but really, who could resist?  Just a _few_ test runs and then he’ll turn in.

This is why Rodney steps out of a transporter in a little-used part of the city, rounds a corner and _wham!_  He’s sitting on the floor of the corridor clutching his laptop.  His ass hurts, his _nose_ hurts and the weirdest thing of all is that Sheppard is sitting on the floor a couple metres away, staring at him.  One look at Sheppard’s attire tells Rodney what’s happened.

“Okay, it’s one thing to insist on putting _yourself_ through the exercise in self-torture that is recreational running, but now you’ve obviously decided to _share_ the pain, Sheppard!  You do _not_ get to ignore my existence as much as possible most of the time and then body-slam me at your own convenience in odd corners of the city at...  What time is it anyway and why are you awake and running when you already look exhausted?”

It takes Rodney a moment to realize that Sheppard’s not snarking back, he’s not answering at all, he may not even be _listening_.  He’s still sitting, still staring at Rodney with an expression that’s not exactly fear.  When Rodney’s rant grinds to a halt, Sheppard starts inching back, as if he wants to get away but can’t quite manage to stand up and run.

“Sheppard?”

No response.

“Sheppard?  John?”  This time Rodney reaches out towards the other man’s ankle – which Sheppard promptly jerks back.  “Okay, Sheppard, this right here?  This is the military commander of Atlantis freaking out.  This is a security risk to the entire city.  So if _you_ personally don’t want to talk to _me_ personally, that’s okay.  How about you fill the chief science officer in on what’s going on, on the not-so-slight chance that he can use his genius to do something about it before Atlantis and everyone else gets hurt because you can’t do your job?”

Rodney knows most people think he’s abrasive and uncaring.  He also knows that sometimes “caring” is not the way to go and that an appeal to Sheppard in his professional role might be what gets through.

Sheppard stops inching, opens his mouth, shuts it.  Opens it again and what comes out is, “Don’t touch me.”

“No touching, got it.  Except may I point out that it was _you_ who ran into _me_?  Speaking of which – ouch!”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, so’s my ass.”

That gets – not a smile exactly, more like a slight but visible relaxation of Sheppard’s facial muscles.  Rodney perseveres.  “So, I’m going to guess that this has something to do with MG9-147.”

“It’s not temporary.”

“What’s not – oh.  The effects you experienced on the planet?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, obviously _some_ of them were temporary.  You were... pretty gone.  You couldn’t speak, you didn’t seem to _understand_ speech, you didn’t recognize any of us, you _kidnapped_ me trying to protect me from Teyla and Ronon...”

“Did you know that at the time?”

“That you were trying to protect me?  I figured it out.  It was kind of obvious that you saw me as, uh, your, uh.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, by comparison, you’re doing a lot better now!”

“Keller says there’ve been changes in my brain activity.”

“Keller practices voodoo.  What kind of changes?”

“I can smell you.”

“Uh, sorry?”

“As if my sense of smell had improved, but only for you.  And I, I want...  It’s worse if you’re close.  Or – if I see someone else touching you.”

“So then worst of all if I touch you, or you touch... no, wait.  It seemed to _help_ the other night.”

“God, you’re calling that _help_?  Sheppard’s voice is almost a sob.  Both men look away from each other.  “I was completely out of control, Rodney.  I knew what I was doing and couldn’t _stop_.”

“Did I _tell_ you to stop?  Did I say no?  Try to punch you out, break a laptop over your head, radio for help?  I made a _decision_ to go along with it, you didn’t hurt me and yes, I _am_ calling it help, because you looked a little less like death warmed-over the next day.”

Long silence.  Then: “Fine, it helped for a while.”

“Good.  So if we did it again it would help for a while more.”

“We can’t...”

“I’m not saying it’s a permanent fix!  It’s a _temporary_ fix we can apply while we’re _looking_ for a permanent fix.  I need copies of Keller’s records, for one.  And I need to know if the linguists made anything of those inscriptions we found.  I’ll get Radek looking through the Ancient database _and_ we’re sending a team back to MG9-147 – no, a team _without_ you on it, Sheppard.  Now come on – up!  Chop, chop!  I’m not going to cuddle with you here on the floor, I don’t even want to think what my back would be like in the morning.  We’re doing this in my quarters.”

“Rodney, I haven’t agreed that we’re doing anything at all.”  Sheppard’s finally beginning to sound more like himself, although he looks tense and strained – no, _re_strained, paradoxically motionless only through violent effort.  Rodney can’t tell which way Sheppard would move if he broke, if he’d throw himself away from or _towards_ Rodney. 

“Two words, Colonel: security risk.”

Deep breath.  “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

“Sheppard...”

“I can’t... you... the transporter...”

“Close quarters.  Okay, I get it.  I’ll go first.  But if you don’t show up within ten minutes, I’ll hunt you down, understand?”

“Yeah, Rodney.  I understand.  And, uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Ten minutes.”  The test runs can wait.

***

It becomes a routine.  Keller hands over the records, the linguists surrender what they’ve got, Radek searches the database and Sheppard comes by Rodney’s quarters once a week.  Maybe twice.

Rodney combines the records with the search results and his own uniquely inspired genius, comes up empty-handed and sends Radek back to search some more.  Sheppard continues to come by Rodney’s quarters, but only every other night.

Rodney takes Teldy’s team back to the Ancient laboratory outpost on hot, humid, intensely _green_ MG9-147.  “You could set a Tarzan movie here,” comments Mehra.  Rodney glares – the phrase, “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” has been on his mind all too frequently lately.   

Porter’s interested in the wildlife.  “The things that look like deer except they’re the size of a Labrador retriever are edible,” Rodney tells her.  The only _truly_ traumatizing part of his experience with Sheppard occurred after Sheppard ran one down and caught it bare-handed.  Not only did Sheppard proudly present Rodney with his kill, he also noticed that Rodney wasn’t eating any of the raw carcass and insisted on hand-feeding Rodney bloody bits of it.  Why they didn’t both need de-worming when they got back to Atlantis is a mystery to Rodney.

The outpost itself is so overgrown that SGA-1 only found it due to Rodney’s insistence on pursuing even the slightest energy signature.  Inside, corridors branch off into two wings.  Teyla and Ronon had taken one, Sheppard and Rodney the other.  It had been, of course, Sheppard and Rodney who had found the room with the pedestal in the middle and the Ancient inscriptions on the wall next to the door.  Rodney was still trying to puzzle them out – something about animals and Ascension – when Sheppard stepped inside and the domed top of the pedestal flared to life.

When the light died down again, Sheppard appeared to be unharmed.  Wide-eyed, obviously wary – really, who wouldn’t be at that point? – but unharmed.  It was only when he cautiously slouched up to Rodney and began first to sniff, then to gently stroke Rodney’s tac vest that Rodney realized they might have a problem.  And when Teyla radio’ed to check in, things went completely to hell.  Visibly startled by the disembodied voice, Sheppard tore his radio off and threw it on the floor.  Then he valiantly saved Rodney from attack by disembodied voices by disposing of _Rodney’s_ radio in the same fashion, after which he grabbed Rodney by the arm and started hauling them along the corridor towards the exit, possibly following the currents of fresh air.

They had just reached the exit when they heard Teyla’s and Ronon’s voices coming from further down the other corridor.  At which point Sheppard shoved Rodney out the doorway, jumped out after him, grabbed him again and started running.  In retrospect, Rodney supposed he could have put up more resistance, but it was hard to think clearly with Sheppard baring his teeth and growling at him, apparently to get him to run faster.  And there was really no way Rodney could have known that it would take Teyla and Ronon _three days_ to 1) make it back to the Gate, 2) return with Lorne’s team, 3) follow Sheppard and Rodney’s trail and 4) capture Sheppard without harming him, a task made more difficult by the fact that Sheppard had absolutely no compunctions about harming _them_.

Teldy _et al_ enter the outpost cautiously and stick together as they follow Rodney down the corridor to the room with the pedestal.  The linguists back on Atlantis have translated the inscription as meaning something like, “Acknowledge and relinquish your inner animal to Ascend!”  Or possibly, “This way up to either adopt or surrender a pet.”

Rodney hates the Ancients.  He hates them _all_.

Mehra’s chosen for the red-shirt role.  Following Rodney’s and Porter’s instructions from the doorway, she approaches the pedestal and runs various scans.  The good news is that nothing activates.  The bad news is that when the results of the scans are analyzed back on Atlantis, there’s no new information.

Every other night becomes every night, although some nights it’s only to sleep together, Sheppard’s body curled along and over Rodney’s in what Rodney has admitted to himself is possession and protection.

The good news is, the temporary fix seems to work.  It’s like methadone – Sheppard gets his dose of Rodney every night and is able to function normally throughout the day.  He can even interact _with_ Rodney normally.  (Radek mutters comments on whether “normal” has ever been a concept that can be appropriately applied to Rodney and Sheppard’s interactions.  Rodney ignores him.)  The two of them egg each other on in meetings, eat meals together, spend time ratcheting up the performance of the puddlejumpers and sorting through Ancient artefacts.

Keller, with Woolsey’s knowledge and approval, documents Sheppard’s progress to the nth degree and adds an official recommendation to his medical file that the “therapy” should continue on an indefinite, as-needed basis for the good of both Atlantis _and_ Sheppard’s sanity.  If anyone should attempt to invoke DADT, Keller’s ready.  Rodney remembers why he almost married her, although he also remembers why he didn’t.

The bad news is, the fix works almost too well.  The more Sheppard stabilizes, the less he’s the desperately driven hominid, the more he’s present as _himself_.  Or at least that’s how it seems to Rodney.  He doesn’t dare ask – and doubts Sheppard would tell him – what it’s like from Sheppard’s side of their therapy sessions.  Rodney feels Sheppard’s breath on his skin, feels Sheppard’s touch and knows he’s losing of track of boundaries.  He finds himself reaching to touch Sheppard _back_.  It’s sort of like stroking a purring cat, and then again it’s nothing like that at all.

The night comes that Sheppard’s fervent rubs and exploratory licks of Rodney’s groin coalesce into something more focused, something very like, well, oh, yes.  Rodney looks down in wonder and terror at John’s bent head and thinks, “Blowjob.  John, his mouth, he.”  And also thinks, “He’s done this before.”  Because it’s either that or the ATA gene confers at least one more inborn ability than anyone’s admitted knowledge of.

When it’s over, Rodney wants to kiss Sheppard, wants to pull John up along his body, taste himself in John’s mouth, lick through to pure John underneath.  He wants, oh, but he doesn’t dare.  Kissing’s not hominid behaviour, it’s specific to certain human cultures.  Kissing John would violate their unspoken agreement that John’s doing this because he has to, that Rodney’s doing this to help his best friend.  When all of this is past, when they find a permanent fix, when John no longer comes by Rodney’s quarters at night, Rodney will need to know that he kept to their agreement.  He’ll need that knowledge to comfort him in his loss.

So Rodney doesn’t kiss John, doesn’t kiss Sheppard.  He _does_ wonder when they curl up to sleep afterwards and Sheppard mumbles into his hair, “Sorry.”

About what?

“Shouldn’t.  Know you don’t.”

“John?”

But John Sheppard’s already asleep. 

***

PS4-137 is booked as an overnight trip.  Rodney’s concerned about the therapy schedule and asks Sheppard the night before SGA-1 leaves, “Will you be okay?”  Sheppard answers, “Yeah.  Don’t worry.”

Rodney spends the night after SGA-1 returns in the infirmary with the rest of the team, waiting for Keller to bring them news they already know isn’t going to be good.  When she finally gets out of the OR, she looks exhausted and grim.  Ronon gets to his feet and tugs at her arm until she’s sitting in the seat he vacated.

“He’ll live.  We couldn’t save the leg.  We... I had to amputate.  He can be fitted with a prosthesis after the stump heals.  I’ll put in an order on the next _Daedalus_ run.  The other injuries are relatively minor.”  Keller scrubs at her face, takes a breath.  “He’ll be asleep for several hours yet.  I’ll have you radio’ed as soon as he shows signs of waking.  Until then, you should all get some sleep.”

Rodney knows this isn’t his choice to make, but no one else says anything and he’s about to speak when:

“I’m staying.”  Sheppard’s voice is flat, uncompromising.

“Then I’m staying with you,” Rodney says promptly.

“There’s no need for...”

“...either of us to be here, but if you’re staying, so am I.”

“Colonel, I _will_ have you radio’ed at the first signs of consciousness.  Until then, there’s nothing more you can do here.”

Sheppard wavers briefly, which is enough for Rodney to start pulling him towards the door.  When Ronon and Teyla fall in behind them – blocking the way back into the room – Sheppard surrenders and goes.  Rodney can practically feel the anger radiating off Sheppard on his own skin.  He knows that most of it is self-directed. 

Turned out that the _official_ government of PS4-137 was happy to greet SGA-1.  The opposition fringe group?  Not so much.  The dissidents had explosives.  Dr. Jeffrey Smolensky, age 31, has lost a leg today because of an alien political dispute, because a wall fell on him, because Lt. Colonel John Sheppard failed to protect the non-combatant member of his team.  And Smolensky is a _geologist_.  His work on mapping accreted terranes had been intensely field-oriented.  He’d been all wide-eyed eagerness to explore _whole new planets_.

That will have to change now.

Yes, Rodney knows Sheppard’s angry because he failed to protect someone who depended on him.  And the soft sciences have never been Rodney’s thing, but even he knows that at some deep level in the hominid brain, “depends on” and “belongs to” have a way of flowing into each other.  So Rodney’s not all that surprised when they reach his quarters and Sheppard follows him in and then shoves him against the wall.

Oh, Sheppard’s angry, growling and nipping at Rodney to _hold still_ as Sheppard pulls his clothes off, checks Rodney over inch by inch in a way that he hasn’t for weeks.  Sheppard needs to see/smell/taste for himself that if he’s failed in all else, he hasn’t failed to protect Rodney, he hasn’t _lost_ Rodney.

Anger morphs into desire but remains edged with potential violence.  There’ll be nothing so civilized as a blowjob tonight.  Sheppard sniffs, rubs, _ruts_ against Rodney’s body, snarling softly, _biting_ at Rodney’s neck and shoulders.  And Rodney moves with him, rocks against him.  He’s been trying to keep up a steady stream of low-voiced talk, trying to stroke Sheppard’s back and arms, but Rodney’s strokes are digging deeper into John’s skin, his voice is developing ragged breaks.  Comforting John has become less about calming him and more about opening to him, _giving_ to him.  There’s no room left between them but Rodney would pull John closer if he could, he’d pull John _in_ so close...

After Rodney and Sheppard had been rescued – in Sheppard’s case unwilling and unconscious – from Planet Inner Animal, Keller had examined them both thoroughly.  Her manner and tone had been matter-of-fact as she’d asked Rodney the necessary questions.  Rodney’s had been rather less so.  Embarrassed, he’d taken refuge in sarcasm and snapped back, “No, he was waiting for our third date.”  Because Sheppard-as-primitive-hominid, for all his possessive appreciation of Rodney’s body, had never attempted penetration.

And John’s not doing so now as, angry and desperate, he grips Rodney’s arms so tight there’ll certainly be bruises in the morning to match the teeth marks.  But if John did, if John needed this, “I’d say yes, John, I’d say yes, John, I, yes.”  Rodney’s voice is fervent against John’s throat, and John snarls and thrusts just that much harder and that’s it.  Rodney feels the wash of warmth against his groin, catches the other man’s weight in his arms.  He himself is still aching, wanting, so he braces John with one arm and uses his free hand to get where he needs to go.

After Rodney’s vision clears, he takes John into his bed to sleep.

***

They don’t discuss Rodney’s reinstatement to SGA-1.  One day at lunch, Sheppard says, “Mission briefing tomorrow 09:00.  PD1-391.”  And steals some of Rodney’s fries.  There are no surprised faces at the table when Rodney shows up the next morning.

PD1-391 is pretty much a milk run.  The next handful of missions go off smoothly as well.  Rodney knows what this means and starts packing extra power bars, extra ammo, extra just about everything.

PZ5-128, AKA Rilia, is a lovely place with a temperate climate.  The Rilians are friendly people who are advanced enough to have a Science Guild, although it’s really more like an Alchemy-and-Astrology Guild.  Still, they’ve amassed a considerable collection of Ancient odds and ends, mostly broken bits but offering a few whole and functional devices.  Sheppard activates a few harmless ones.  The Guild leader expresses a desire for further information exchange and throws a banquet in the team’s honour.  The food is really good.

So _of course_ when the drugs wear off and Rodney comes to several hours later, he’s in a cell.  Teyla is in a cell, Ronon is in a cell.  (You have to hand it to these people, they’re at least smart enough not to imprison everyone together.)  Sheppard is nowhere in sight.

Eventually a sizeable squad of members of the Warriors Guild shows up to march the three of them outside the city gates.  Here they are informed by the Science Guild leader that because the Rilians are peaceful, civilized people, they’re not going to kill anyone.  Rodney, Teyla and Ronon are free to go.  Sheppard’s being kept for breeding.  He’ll be absolutely fine – unless the Atlanteans attack, in which case he’ll be dead.  Apparently letting the information slip that Sheppard’s knack with Ancient tech is genetic and heritable was a bad idea.

Chance cuts them a few lucky breaks.  One, they brought a jumper for this trip and parked it out of sight of the gates.  Two, the Warriors Guild is smart enough to assign a couple of guys to trail them, but not smart enough to assign a couple of guys who can do it _really_ quietly.  Three, the Warriors Guild also makes the mistake of sending two guys who know where Sheppard is being held.

The team’s not even halfway to the jumper when Ronon realizes they’re being followed.  He and Teyla circle around as Rodney continues forward, expostulating loudly to himself.  Once the spies have been captured and trussed up, the team interrogates them using a sort of modified good cop/bad cop technique, except it’s more like two _really_ bad cops and one extremely pissed off cop (Rodney).  The method is quite effective.

Fourth lucky break: Sheppard’s not being held in an underground cell.  He’s in a tower.  With some air-room around it.  Fifth lucky break: Rodney’s paranoia has progressed to the point where his “extras” for this trip include extra P-90s left in the jumper just in case someone (like the Rilian Warriors Guild) confiscates their original set.

The spies are left tied to a tree after Ronon points out that if they can’t figure out how to free themselves eventually, they never should have been allowed into the Warriors Guild in the first place.  This allows the entire team to participate in the daring rescue.  Rodney nervously backs the jumper up to the relevant tower, hovers and decloaks.  The tower’s windows are too narrow for Ronon, but some fancy work with rope and a grappling hook gets Teyla inside from the jumper’s rear hatch. 

Getting Sheppard _out_ of the tower by the same method is a bit of a trick, as he’s only semi-coherent, plus by now the guards – armed with crossbows – have noticed the hovering jumper.  Teyla and Ronon manage to maneuver Sheppard to safety while at the same time returning the guards’ fire fiercely and accurately enough to hold them off.  All Rodney can do is watch, rant and stay at the controls keeping the jumper in place.  And once they’ve got Sheppard free, all he can do is fly the damn jumper back to the Gate listening as Teyla and Ronon supply basic first aid in the rear.

“All” that Rodney can do feels way too close to “not enough.”  It terrifies him.  When they make it home, he snaps at Woolsey, “Talk later!” and follows Sheppard’s gurney to the infirmary without a second glance.  He sticks so closely to Sheppard that Keller finally tells him to back off and let her do her job or she’ll ask Ronon to remove him.

Sheppard’s beaten and bruised and has the remains of some kind of sedative in his system, but apparently the Rilians didn’t want to damage their breeding stock too bady, because all of his numerous injuries are relatively minor.  Even the nasty, bloody lump on his head turns out to be non-concussive.  Keller’s keeping him overnight for observation, of course.

“I should stay,” says Rodney, “In case he wakes up and uh.”  Starts channeling his inner animal.  Needs Rodney close enough to smell and touch.

Keller doesn’t blink, just pulls up a second gurney.  “Don’t bother telling me about your back tomorrow morning.”

But in the night, it’s Rodney who keeps waking up, Rodney who needs to touch John, Rodney who keeps leaning in to make sure John’s still breathing.  Finally he throws an arm across John’s chest so that he can _feel_ the motion of John’s breathing and falls asleep in that position.  The medical staff are in and out, checking readings, but no one comments.

When John wakes up the next morning and smiles weakly and says, “Hi, Rodney,” Rodney’s horrified to realize that he feels almost _disappointed_.  As if – as if he had _wanted_ John to really need him to be there.  But John’s coherent.  John’s (relatively) fine.  So Rodney says, “Hi.  Do you want something to eat?  I’ll go get muffins.”  And flees.

***

Keller radios Rodney later that day to tell him he’s needed in the infirmary.  It turns out that she’s releasing Sheppard to his own quarters on the condition that he _rest_.  For some reason, she seems to think it’s Rodney’s responsibility to enforce this condition.  Sheppard’s not arguing, probably because he thinks Rodney’s going to drop him off at the door and run back to the labs.  Just to show him otherwise, Rodney makes himself at home at Sheppard’s desk, radios Radek to bring the laptop Rodney was working on and settles in for the duration.

Forced to actually _lie down_ on his bed and _stay_ there, Sheppard ends up sleeping for most of the day.  Teyla and Ronon bring supper by and stay to eat it.  After they leave, Rodney props his laptop up on the bed and gets some old Doctor Who episodes playing, but when he looks over at Sheppard, the man’s asleep, tucked up along Rodney’s side, face practically mashed into Rodney’s armpit.

The thing is, it’s not at all strange.  It’s how they’ve slept together many nights recently.  It’s familiar, it’s comfortable and it’s absolutely everything Sheppard needs it to be.  Abruptly, Rodney shoves Sheppard off and stands up.

“Whuh?  Ro’ney?”

“My back doesn’t need two nights in a row without proper support, Colonel.  I’m going back to my own quarters.  You’ve had your dose, you’ll be fine.”  Rodney’s got his shoes on and his laptop in hand and he’s gone.

***

Rodney’s not too worried when Sheppard doesn’t show up the following night.  Colonel Hominid’s been pretty stable lately.  He _is_ a bit concerned when Sheppard fails to show up for two nights more and avoids Rodney during the day as well.  He begins to have the nasty feeling that they’re sliding right back to square one.  And while this is _not_ Rodney’s fault, he’s aware that it _is_ related to his pissy attitude.  At least somewhat.

Still, on the fourth evening when the door slides open to let Sheppard in, Rodney says only, “There you are.”

“Yeah.  Sorry.  This is... kind of hard.”

“You don’t say.”

“But I should have told you.”

“Don’t bother.  I already figured it out.”

“You did?”  Sheppard looks surprised and rather relieved.

“Hey, genius here!”

“Yeah, I know.”  Rodney could almost hate Sheppard for the fond warmth of his smile.  “So, what are we gonna do?”

“Do we have any choice?”

“I, uh, guess not.”  The smile flickers out.  “I thought maybe...”  Sheppard rubs the back of his neck.  “Rodney?”

“It’s all right, Colonel.  I accept that this is the way things have to be.”  Rodney knows he’s got his arms crossed and his chin stuck out, chooses to stay that way, waits for Sheppard to signal his own acceptance of the situation by getting the show on the road.

“Right, then.  Good night.”

And Sheppard turns on one heel and leaves, his back as straight as Rodney’s ever seen it.

Rodney’s so taken aback that it’s a full minute before he realizes what’s happened.  Sure, their therapeutic touch arrangement is getting old and maybe it’s killing Rodney inside, but he was being an asshole.  And _of course_ Sheppard responded by deciding he can tough this out on his own, even though it’s already been proven he _can’t_.  If Rodney can’t fix this, then his worries about square one will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Damn, he’d really rather do this in his own quarters with his own mattress, but he’s screwed that up for tonight, so Sheppard’s quarters it is.

Half an hour later, having tried and failed to gain admittance (break in) to Sheppard’s quarters, he realizes he’s screwed things up even more than he thought.

He’d better warn Keller that Sheppard’s going to have a relapse.

***

“Jennifer.”

“Hi, Rodney.  I’ve been expecting you – I take it the Colonel spoke with you?”

The Atlantis gossip mill is amazing, but for it to have picked up on last evening’s conversation with Sheppard – in Rodney’s own quarters...  Someone’s bugged his quarters?  Rodney isn’t sure whether he’s appalled by their stupidity or admires their guts.  Not that admiration will stop him from killing them.

“Yeah, he did.”

“I could kick myself.”

Rodney blinks.  “Not that I’ve ever hesitated to assign blame where it’s due, but in this case...”

“Oh, come on, like you don’t think I’m an idiot for failing to run regular interim scans as a monitoring precaution?”

Obviously, the conversation he had with Sheppard _isn’t_ the conversation Keller thinks.  Equally obviously, if he admits as much to Keller, she’s going to claim confidentiality and shut down on him.  So...

“Of course you’re an idiot!  That’s why I’m here to see the results for myself!”

“Yeah, I thought so.  Okay, come over here...  These are the brain activity scans I ran the other day after the Colonel got back from Rilia with that lump on his head.  These are the ones from seven months ago, just after the incident on, uh...”

“Planet Inner Animal.”

“Right, that one.  And these are the baseline scans from the Colonel’s last complete physical before that incident.”

“Ohmigod.”

“I was pretty surprised myself.  He’s completely back to normal.  And damn it, we have absolutely no idea when it happened.”

“Rilia?”

“I can’t rule that out, but his head injury there was so mild that I don’t see it causing a sudden change of this magnitude.  It’s a lot more likely that the _previous_ changes have been reverting gradually over the past seven months.  But I didn’t track that, so we don’t have any record of it.”

On one hand, Rodney sympathizes with Keller’s dismay.  Potential data, now lost and gone forever due to pure _stupidity_.  He knows that particular brand of heartache (except that in his case, it’s usually someone _else’s_ stupidity, of course).

On the other hand, Keller’s dismay is nothing compared to his own stunned shock.  Because for almost every night for at least the past six months, Sheppard’s been coming to his quarters.  Sheppard’s been touching Rodney, holding Rodney as if there’d been no change in his need to do so to remain anchored. 

_“This is... kind of hard...  I should have told you.”_

“So you told Sheppard...”

“As soon as I saw the results, of course.  I asked him if he wanted me to tell you, but he said he’d rather do it himself.  He seemed... more surprised than I might have expected.  As if he hadn’t noticed any change himself.”

***

“Did you know?”

“Good evening to you too, McKay.”

“Right, fine, good evening.  Did you know?”

“That you were coming by?”

“Cut it out, Sheppard!  I spoke with Keller.  _Did you know?_”

Sheppard studies Rodney, narrow-eyed, and then – then his mask fractures just enough to show a bit of surprise.  “You didn’t.  The other evening.”

“No.  I thought you meant... something else.  Look, are you going to throw me out or are we going to talk about this?”

“I don’t see how there’s anything to talk about, Rodney.”

“Well, _of course_ there’s...”

“Because when you said you accepted the way things had to be, you meant you accepted that you had to put up with me... being around that way.  So, now you don’t.”  Sheppard shrugs.

“I didn’t mean – wait, you didn’t know that _then_.  You _thought_ that I’d accepted that you didn’t need to be around ‘that way’ any more – and with the degree of miscommunication that’s _already_ occurring, I don’t know why you think it’s a good idea to incorporate vague euphemisms – and you were pissed off about my acceptance.”

“I was not pissed off.”

“Yes, you were, you told Atlantis to block my attempts to break into your quarters.”

“Because the only reason you were trying to break into my quarters was that I’d already refused to _let_ you in!”

“Which proves you were pissed off!”

“Maybe it proves I was trying to sleep!”

“Oh, please, I could hear you pacing!  And don’t think you’ve distracted me from my original question!”

_Long_ silence.  Sheppard’s slouch is pure “fuck you.”  Rodney stares him down.

“No.  I didn’t know.”

“And when you _did_ know, you didn’t want to tell me right away.”

Sheppard looks away.

“Would you have told me at all if you didn’t think that Keller might let it slip?”

“_Fuck_ you, McKay, you’ve got what you want, now get out!”

“_I’ve_ got what I want?  That’s rich!  This whole mess has _never_ been about what I want, it’s been about _you_ needing intimate physical contact on a regular basis to keep from freaking out.  And I’ve gone along with that because it was you and it was close enough and I could make do except then at some point it shifted from being a therapy arrangement to being more like we’d skipped dating, the engagement, the wedding _and_ the honeymoon and gone straight to ‘old married couple.’”

“And that pisses you off,” drawls Sheppard.

“BEING CHEATED PISSES ME OFF!”

Both of them freeze.  Rodney’s as startled as Sheppard.  It’s not so much the volume – he already knew he could yell that loud – as the words.

He’s thinking that it can’t get much worse than this when Sheppard opens his mouth to reply and Rodney realizes it _can_.  He’s a genius, so he does the intelligent thing.  He hits the door pad and gets out of there.

***

It’s not running away, it’s a tactical retreat.  But retreating and leaving the field to Sheppard is getting old.  Rodney’s done it three times in five days, while Sheppard’s only retreated once.  That makes it Sheppard’s turn twice over now.

This is the first conclusion Rodney comes to once he’s settled down in the botany lab with two laptops plus substantial supplies of anti-histamines, coffee and power bars.  It’s late enough that no one else is there, and he figures that it’s one of the few places that Sheppard won’t think to look for him.  Well, okay, besides the gym and the shooting range, but _those_ places carry a risk of being spotted by people who _report_ to Sheppard.

The second conclusion is that Sheppard’s reaction asserts the validity of Rodney’s deduction.  Sheppard would just as soon Rodney had never learned that their touch therapy sessions were no longer an absolute necessity.

The third conclusion is that Sheppard’s being a real asshole about this.

The fourth conclusion is that despite Sheppard’s assholity, The Crush has somehow regenerated itself.

The fifth conclusion is that if ignoring The Crush until it went away worked the first time, there’s no reason the same method won’t work a second time.

Having analyzed the data, Rodney is then able to come up with a course of action.  He is _not_ going to attempt to squirm out of the mission SGA-1 has scheduled for tomorrow.  He’s going to be focused and professional.  If anyone runs a – retreats this time, it’s going to be Sheppard, because it’s Sheppard’s turn _plus_ he’s being an asshole.  So there!

It’s satisfying to be able to deal with this sort of thing in a mature and rational way.  Feeling happier, Rodney brings up the proposed improvements to the desalinization plant on his laptop and digs in.  Digs in deeper...

“Rodney?”

“Nah my tu’n.”

“Rodney, wake up.  It is morning.  If you do not leave, the botanists can not get any work done today.”

Whoever’s speaking has an accent like...  Oh, it _is_ Radek.  Radek’s leaning over him and shaking his shoulder while a group of botanists watches from a cautious distance.

“Radek, what are you doing in the botany lab?”

“I was asked to come and evict you.  Everyone else is scared to try, I can not imagine why.  Now come, Miko has just made fresh coffee.”

***

SGA-1 gates to P2G-784.  They spend hours traipsing through the wooded hills of P2G-784.  They find nothing of interest on P2G-784.  Despite this, Rodney manages to keep up a running commentary of strictly professional observations about his scanner readings, the surrounding terrain and anything else he can think of.  He saves the pithiest professional observations for moments when it looks as if Sheppard might be about to say something.

As a result, by the time the team gets back to Atlantis, Sheppard’s wearing a mask over his mask while Rodney has a sore throat _and_ a stress headache.  Ronon seems to be finding something unusually amusing.  Teyla keeps looking from Rodney to Sheppard and back again with a look that reminds Rodney of Radek watching fluctuations in unstable power readings.

So when Rodney’s door chimes that evening, he figures it’s Teyla, perhaps with Ronon in tow, and yells, “Come in!”

It’s Sheppard.  Who steps inside and then seems at a loss for words.

Rodney eyes him.  “I take it Teyla put you up to coming here?”

“Yeah.”  Then, silence.

Rodney sighs.  As usual, he’s going to have to do all the heavy lifting.  “Did she make any suggestions as to what to do once you _got_ here?”

“Yeah.  She suggested, uh – do you really _want_ to date?”

“What?  Date?  You?  No!  I mean.”  Rodney takes a breath and tries again.  “Aren’t we sort of already past dating?”

“Well, _yeah_, that’s what I thought.”  Sheppard nods vigourously.  But he shows no signs of leaving to tell Teyla her suggestion was wrong.  He’s not leaving at all, even though it’s his turn to run away.  Retreat.  Whatever.

Maybe Rodney can scare him away.  “Of course just because I don’t want to go all the way back to _dating_ doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back at _all_.  Just not so far.”  Under cover of what he hopes is a leer, Rodney sneaks a glance at Sheppard to see if the other man is looking scared yet.  “Going back all the way would be inefficient.  I don’t think we need to do that, do you?  There’s lots of uh, intermediate stages between dating and where we are.”  He tries another leer, this time adding an eyebrow wiggle.

“Old married couple,” Sheppard drawls.

“Yes!  And we should explore.  Like, on a mission.”

“You want to bring Ronon and Teyla?”  Oh hell, Sheppard’s out-eyebrowing him.  And smirking.  _Not_ the reaction Rodney was playing for.

“No!  I mean that it would be about exploration in the way that missions are about exploration.  And discovery and negotiation and learning and uh, trade, and, uh.”  Okay, maybe trying to scare away a guy who flew a nuclear bomb into a hive ship was a bad idea.  Especially with The Crush supplying unhelpful ideas about the discovery and exploration of John Sheppard.  Not that after months of touch therapy Rodney hasn’t _seen_ the territory, _felt_ it even, but there’s so much he didn’t get to _do_, so much _they_ didn’t do.

“Rodney, what do you want?  You’re confusing me.”  Sheppard’s voice is low and he’s closer than the last time Rodney looked at him.  Close enough to touch but not actually touching.  Waiting for Rodney’s answer.  Sheppard’s not running away and Rodney’s not running away and if Rodney doesn’t do something, they might be standing here a long, long time.

Kissing’s not hominid behaviour.  So Rodney reaches out (mostly) and up (just a little), cups his hands on either side of John’s jaw and kisses John on the mouth.  Once, briefly.  And still no one’s running away, so he tries it again, leaning in and licking along John’s lips.  John’s scent is familiar, his taste isn’t.  The feel of his skin under Rodney’s hands is familiar, the feel of his lips under Rodney’s lips is strange and wonderful.  Except then he _opens_ his lips and “wonderful” becomes something else altogether, something _amazing_, John’s lips are amazing and his _tongue_ and the way it _moves_ against _Rodney’s_ tongue.

Rodney’s distantly aware of John’s hands on his back – on the _bare skin_ of his back, as they somehow seem to have gotten up under his shirt – but John’s mouth is the new element in this picture.  It’s hot and wet and Rodney’s thinking of just sort of crawling inside there for long-term observation except that John keeps moving _away_ ever so slightly which isn’t what Rodney wants at _all_ so he keeps following John until John _stops_ moving and _then_ Rodney finally has him except that John starts _sucking_ on Rodney’s tongue and maybe it’s _John_ who has _Rodney_ which is _fine_ as long as John has Rodney’s _mouth_ except, wait, what.

“Breathe, buddy.  C’mon, take a breath.”  John, the bastard, is laughing low and wicked.  But still not running away.  In fact, Rodney realizes he’s got John backed up hard against the wall, with one hand around the back of John’s neck and the other fisted in John’s shirt.  John’s not going anywhere Rodney doesn’t want him to.  Which still leaves a lot of options, so Rodney makes a choice.

“Bed.  Bed, bed, bed!  Now!”

John grins.  “Clothes or no clothes?”

“We’re past clothes,” Rodney decides, and starts removing John’s with more haste than care.

Kissing while they’re horizontal, kissing while they’re skin-to-skin, pressed up all along the length of each other’s bodies, that’s a whole new field of exploration.  Kissing is new, while the sinuosity of John’s body moving against his is familiar.  He’s had John this close before, wanted to pull John _closer_, wanted to pull John _in_.  Has wanted.  Wants.

“John.  John, wait.”  It almost hurts to pull away from the heat and scent and _solidity_ of John, but Rodney does.  Pulls away a bit, turns over on his stomach, lets his thighs fall apart.  Looks back over his shoulder, feeling both silly and sexy at once.  John’s eyes, already dark, have gone impossibly darker.

“Rodney, are you sure?”  The hoarseness of John’s voice scrapes painfully along the edge of pleasure.

“_I’ve_ been sure for months.  _You_ were the one who didn’t _do_ anything.”

“You never, uh.”  John makes a hand motion that seems to encompass the entire tableau of Rodney, spread out, inviting.  Rodney feels a lot less silly.  And he gets it.  He finally gets it.  He’s never _invited_ this before.  Rodney McKay, assertive to the point of being abrasive, has been waiting and waiting and never said – let alone _growled _–__

“Come here.  Condoms and lube in the night table drawer, then come here.  We’re doing this.”

And they are.  With some initial nervousness and a few mishaps (“Lube won’t do any good _there_”), with encouragement and laughter, with gasps that lead to moans that lead to writhing and curses (“John, damnit, _move_!”), they are _so_ doing this.  They’re moving together, sweat-slick against each other, and Rodney’s filled with John, surrounded by John, aching because please, John, please, touch.  And John does.


End file.
